🕒⚔️

you clutched your father's pant leg, feeling the recklessness of the kitchen overwhelming you. the owner—you had learned to call him owner Zeff—called out, "oi little eggplant, quit your yapping and introduce yourself to our new hires."

the boy finally looked your way, locking eyes with you. he had kind eyes, that was the first thing you noticed, framed by his blond bangs and swirly brow. he gave a small wave and introduced himself as Sanji.

being the only two children aboard, you and Sanji became close—at least in proximity. with your father working as a line cook, you spent your time drying dishes and sorting silverware. Sanji insisted that he could do it alone, but you didn't mind.

it helped keep your mind off of being in a new place, and helped you feel like you were actually doing something. even if Sanji was grumbling that he could cook better than half the chefs there, the routine of it felt nice and you fell into it with ease.

"you don't talk much, do you?" Sanji asked one day. you looked at him and thought for a bit.

"i guess there's not much to talk about," you replied. he went back to drying wine glasses, careful to not leave any water marks. for a while, the only thing heard was the clinking of utensils and glasses.

then, he looked back at you with a shy, albeit biggest smile you've ever seen him with. "have you heard of the all blue?"

don't you dare look at me that way i don't need reminders of how you don't feel the same

you were 13 years old when you first started feeling the strange flutters in your chest. you chalked it up to the anxiety of starting training as the Baratie host. owner Zeff figured you needed to get out of your corner, figuratively and literally.

Sanji had finally convinced Zeff to put him at the chef's station, so he was a lot busier, but that didn't stop him from finding you before service. "you're going to do great out there, because you're you," he said with one of his kind smiles. the anxiety quelled down, but some other emotion—something you couldn't quite name—replaced it.

your time with Sanji at the dish drying station came to an end. however, that started a tradition of meeting up after a dinner service. smuggling two sodas from the fridge (no doubt owner Zeff knew about, but turned a blind eye to), the two of you talked about anything and everything.

you complained about the customers that came in, and he complained about patty and carne. he would tell you some new recipe he made and always managed to save a serving for you. he eagerly awaited for you to taste it. his eyes lit up when you would devour it, and your eyes lit up when he gave you that smile.

it was usually during these meet ups that you felt these flutters, but you pushed them down and called it post-shift adrenaline.

unfortunately, this childlike innocence didn't last.

it wasn't long until your father had gotten sick, and soon after, passed away. his last words were to owner Zeff and Sanji, asking them to keep caring for you. surrounded by the chefs of the baratie, you put on a strong front as everyone asked if you were okay.

later that night, alone in your room, you collapsed to your knees and cried. it was Sanji who found you, collected you in his arms, and let you cry. his gentle hands patted your hair and your back, without a word.

when your tears subsided, you pulled yourself off of Sanji. you apologized for the giant tear and snot stain that you had left on his nice chef's coat, and he paid no mind. he shrugged and said, "a shirt can be replaced."

the blond then stood up and you wanted to tell him to stay. you weren't expecting him to hold his hand out. "c'mon, let's sneak into the kitchen and i'll make you something to eat?"

that was the thing about Sanji, he never asked you to be anything other than you. he never asked for you to be fine when you weren't. Sanji took you as you were and didn't ask for more.

it was then you met his eyes, oh those eyes, and you were sure of one thing: you had long since crossed the point of seeing Sanji as just a friend.

oh, the burning pain listening to you harp on 'bout some new soulmate "she's so perfect, " blah, blah, blah

you were 16 years old when you became Baratie's new maître d' and Sanji became sous chef. lucky for you, that meant he was able to be out on the floor during service more.

you cherished the few moments you had with Sanji. before every service he'd help you plan the reservations and seating. though you insisted that you had it under control, Sanji was even more insistent.

"is it a crime that i just want to spend time with you?," he'd say, without realizing how your throat closed up and the words die on your tongue. however, Sanji being around that also meant you had to watch him flirt with every woman that walked through the door.

every service, Sanji would make an appearance on the floor to woo whatever lady you had just seated. in these moments, it took all your willpower to focus on the reservations of the night and not wishing that it was your hand in his instead.

"she has got to be the most beautiful person i've laid my eyes on," he would sigh dreamily.

your eyes dropped to the delicately printed font on the menu as you heard him talk. his new crush of the week was the last thing you wanted to hear at the moment. Sanji continued to sigh and wax poetics to a woman he barely knew.

you wanted to grab his face and have him face those eyes into yours. to have him finally see you the way you saw him. to so desperately say, "what about me? have you ever laid eyes on me that way? would you ever?"

then came owner Zeff's gruff voice, "you got no business talking that way if you don't notice what's in front of you." your head turned towards his knowing expression. had you been that obvious?

Sanji responded in his usual sea cook expressionisms as his surrogate father walked away. he turned back to you with a furrow in his brow and a huff, "the hell is he on about noticing what's in front of me? i think the geezer's finally gone senile, tsk."

"no idea," you said, heart feeling heavier.

what's a girl to do? lying on my bed, staring into the blue unrequited, terrifying

you were 18 years old when don krieg nearly laid waste to the sea restaurant. you were nearly beside yourself as you watched Sanji get beat to his breaking point.

when they finally won, Sanji's first instinct was to look for you and finally collapse in your arms. owner Zeff gave you a knowing look before you hauled him inside.

you patched up Sanji as best as you could. he hissed as you pressed alcohol to the open wounds. "i'm being as careful as i can," you reassured him, pinning down the wrapped bandage.

"i know," Sanji said as if it were obvious, "you're always too good to me."

you gently laughed the implications of that sentence away. you ran your hands over his shoulders—only to make sure the bandages were tight, and definitely not to keep your hands on him.

Sanji took a pause to light a cigarette already in his mouth, "he asked me to be on his crew, the dumbass in the straw hat."

you push down the ugly feeling that's rising in you. it was a matter of time before Sanji would have left to chase his dreams. you just didn't know how to prepare for it. you opened your mouth to encourage him.

"come with me?" you look at him in surprise, and he only has that look in his eyes. the one that makes you think that maybe, just maybe he might feel the same way.

you smiled to yourself and pondered it for a second. to travel the world and experience new things, to taste new foods that you've never had, to be at Sanji's side as he traveled the world with his new crew—ah, there it was. his new crew, not yours.

looking back at Sanji, you both let the silence hang as you both knew the answer to his question. a part of you wished he didn't take no for an answer. you wished he would fight for you.

when you and the rest of the Baratie waved Sanji off to his next adventure, owner Zeff looked at you and simply inquired, "you're not gonna tell him?"

you laughed, "it wouldn't change a thing."

confess i loved you just thinking of you i know i've loved you from the start

this was wayyy longer than i anticipated and i didn't even write everything that i wanted to 😭 oh wells

Things almost appeared to have returned to normal that coming week. You went on a girls’ day with Nami. Shachi and Penguin invited you to a local brewery for drinks and games over the weekend. You felt like you were almost on a roll. You were taking care of your bills and household needs. You were making time to spend with friends.

And Law, well, Law was his usual dry self for better or for worse. He wasn’t nearly as cold as he had been. Clinic was busy, perhaps even busier than normal. The most time you saw each other was in passing, lightly bantering around a patient or two, but for the preceding two weeks, Trafalgar Law had been almost outside your realm. 

He seemed… distracted as of late, and that was before he cut his clinic for that next Wednesday short at the last minute. 

“I have to be out of here on time,” you heard him tell Jean Bart in passing. This, of course, came from the man who lived and breathed clinic. The same pain in the ass, demanding doctor who said he’d rather come to the hospital than a social event. Yeah… that guy needed to be out at a reasonable hour. 

You couldn’t help but think about his phone call from last week, something that you unfortunately hadn’t forgotten about. Because, after all you’d been through, why did the first sign of Trafalgar Law being a genuine, honest to God human being come from him on a phone call with a mystery person? 

You’d cut things off with Sanji. You’d told him that you weren’t in a good headspace for dating right now, and he took the information in stride. He’d smiled, speaking to you as warmly as ever, not pushing the subject but assuring you he’d be there if you ever changed your mind. Perfect as usual. And it appeared he’d moved on to another woman to occupy his time. Word was that he was attempting to woo Dr. Nico from osteo and failing. Law had been right, Sanji was unbothered. 

You hated when he was right. 

You tried to convince yourself that it was a decision you made on your own. Frankly, Sanji, for as sweet as he always was to you, had never particularly struck your interest before. You hadn’t found anything wrong with him, but you had chalked it up to being in the work environment when you’d be poked about it in the past. The spark wasn’t there, but having broken things off and still not having spoken to Law, you couldn’t help but feel a little… shut out if not a bit pissed off at how hypocritical he was being. 

You weren’t allowed to date. No, that bought you a one-way ticket for after-hours hospital BDSM, but Law was allowed to sneak around and have secret, cutesy phone calls? He could talk all about owning you while his cock was buried in your cunt all he wanted, but during daylight hours, that wasn’t enough. 

“Hey, Jean?” you drawled, when Law disappeared out of sight. He hummed in acknowledgement, not quite turning toward you as his eyes remained glued to his computer screen. “So…” you trailed, an attempt at being nonchalant. “What was that about? Doc have a hot date or something?” 

You couldn’t even pretend to be casual. Jean Bart clocked you in an instant. 

“I’m not playing,” he said, shaking his head slowly— disappointedly so.

“It’s not a game. I’m curious.” You frowned. 

“You haven’t still haven’t talked… I thought better of you both,” he tsked. 

“So he does have a date!” you hissed, the rush from having pinned Law’s secret down and a suffocating pang in your chest clashed within you. 

What kind of guy plans a date on a Wednesday night? 

More importantly, who agrees to go out on a Wednesday night? Where’s there to go on a Wednesday night? What’s happening this Wednesday that is so good that Law was willing to shorten his afternoon to leave early?

“I’m not playing,” Jean Bart repeated, locking his screen as he made for his next exam room. But to you, that was confirmation enough. 

***

And if Law’s secret, after work activities weren’t enough, it wasn’t long after your second late-night encounter that Law stumbled upon his latest obsession. You had been in the room with him, halfway through the scan. And he had been right about one thing: you couldn’t see your probe the same way again. You held it as you scanned the phantom memory of what the two of you had done more present to you than you cared to admit. 

It wasn’t an overt reaction— definitely not a stew of feelings you felt the need to act on— but rather a cluster of memories and thoughts that lingered a bit more prominently in the back of your mind. Law stood near you, watching your monitor as usual. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing as you—about what had happened. Did he see the same thing you did? Did he think back on that night? 

Law had made a point. And despite how delirious you were that day, you remembered what he told you well. Law, for his mask of indifference and calm, was a territorial control freak at the end of the day. He liked having you to himself—he made that much clear… or did he?

Law hadn’t spoken a word to you about the situation. No clarification. No change to your dynamic. It was like he quietly staked a claim in you with silence, just carrying himself like you were already his— an unspoken boundary that was meant to keep others at a distance, even if you were never meant to know. 

But even with your thoughts swirling about, you kept your eyes on the monitor, sweeping over an area once, then twice. You honed in on the spot, ensuring what you’re seeing wasn’t an artifact.

“Hold right there,” Law muttered behind you. He leaned forward over your shoulder, eyes glued to the monitor. 

“You see it too?” you hummed almost absentmindedly, your attention focused on the little detail on the screen. “Is that… membrane?” 

“There.” 

Law’s finger hovered over the screen. He was almost breathless, his eyes glued to the minute detail. He positioned himself behind you, sliding his fingers over yours to adjust the probe by a fraction. His sudden touch made your heart flip in your chest, all too hyper-aware of his skin against yours. But Law’s eyes weren’t on you; they were on the monitor. 

You looked toward him. He had a genuine, fascinated grin on his face. Macabre, considering the circumstances. Only Trafalgar Law would be giddy over a congenital cardiac malformation. 

“What are the chances? Less than one in ten thousand and an adult case at that,” he muttered into your ear so that the patient didn’t hear. “Right atrium.” You could practically feel his broad smile. 

He was far too close to be professional. He was too comfortable touching you in a way that might’ve tipped anyone else off that he’d done this before. And yet, for all his apparent genius, Law didn’t seem to notice any of what set your chest on fire. He drew away.

“Save everything. I’ll want to review the images again before I submit the case.” 

You were forced to do a double-take. You wanted to ask questions. You had so many questions, but you wanted to avoid alarming the patient if you could help it. There was nothing like two cold medical professionals talking over your head about your ultra-rare heart condition. 

“Don’t let him leave. Book him for a TEE this afternoon,” you heard him say, although you didn’t know who he thought he was talking to. 

And so, you let him leave. Buried in his new case, which he planned to present at the annual meeting, you would later find out, he never did revisit that conversation with you. 

***

Cor triatriatum is a rare congenital heart defect that is most often diagnosed in children. The condition is characterized by a fibromuscular membrane that divides an atrium of the heart, disrupting blood flow within the heart. For such a rare defect, this most commonly occurs in the left atrium. This patient had his membrane in the right atrium. And so, for what seemed to be most of his waking hours, Law’s life seemed to be consumed by cor triatriatum dexter (CTD). 

After hearing all about the rare find, Chopper decided to tag along with you more often. He was eager to comb through every other patient you got in that day, as if he’d find the next big thing right after Law. His presence wasn’t suffocating in the same way that Law’s was. 

Law was ever-serious, critical, and spoke every word with charged judgment. On the other hand, Chopper was like a child who had just discovered the word why. He was interested to know what everything was, why it was like that, and the physics behind how each piece of equipment operated. 

Granted, Chopper had a wealth of knowledge. He didn’t need to be told where the heart was, but he did have a greed for knowledge that made you understand why he was assigned to Law in the first place. You were sure that Law didn’t have much of a tolerance for Chopper’s wholesome yammering, but at the end of the day, Chopper had a brilliant mind— just one you didn’t know if you could sate. 

When you exited the room with him, Chopper was still halfway through asking you a question. You stood with your equipment cart outside the room, trying to follow as he dropped different studies and jargon into the conversation. Doctors, especially baby doctors, like Chopper, spoke like that. You could usually keep up fairly well, but it was his flood of enthusiasm that made the single question seem like an ongoing monologue. Sweet little thing— couldn’t keep things concise. 

Meanwhile, news of the rare case had spread across the floor. Law had a gaggle of fellows and residents crowded around his work station. He went through things quickly, explaining things with a clipped tone as he clicked through the frames.

“Take a look at the partition dividing the right atrium—” you heard him note, continuing to rattle on. “... Easily missed because it mimics stenosis, and—” 

Niji, Yonji, and Marco were among the group gathered. You were beginning to see more of them than usual.

Chopper stood between you and the ensemble as you carted toward your next room. Law tried to pluck you out with his gaze through the crowd. 

“Where’s my tech?” His voice cut through the hall, causing you to stop in your tracks. 

Attention shifted to you, and Chopper swiftly stepped out of the way. Your mouth went dry, a burning cringe tightening your chest. The fellows parted like the Red Sea, allowing you a straight path to Law’s work station. He jabbed a finger at the monitor.

“You’re the one who flagged it. Get over here,” he demanded with a lazy drawl. 

Your lips parted slightly in shock. Because for what Law lacked in bedside manner, he made up for in full with audacity. You didn’t make a move to step forward. Unlike Law, you didn’t have an insatiable urge to point and lecture. And so, you stood at the center of what amounted to the worst dance circle you’d ever been in. 

“Doppler had unusual turbulence…” You said quickly and quietly. The group continued to stand quietly, expecting you to continue. “That’s atypical for your standard atrial septal defects.” 

You continued to meet Law’s icy stare, and perhaps you did for a beat too long. He offered a curt nod before turning to continue his lengthy explanation as if he hadn’t just whistled for you like a dog. A lab pet. 

You dragged yourself down the hall to your next case.

Where’s my tech?

You should have slapped him. The way he said those words, like they were a leash, ordering you around in front of everyone. It wasn’t enough that he fucked you twice and never said another thing about it— he had to make a point with the entire team and more watching. 

He thought he lorded over this place the day he was hired on and you made the mistake of humoring him. Not anymore. 

Law sighed, closing his laptop as he addressed his team. 

“Alright, I needed to be out of here ten minutes ago,” he sighed, as if it was someone else’s fault he lingered in clinic to brag. He only wrapped up just thirty minutes before clinics were supposed to end anyway. If anything, Law was on time for once. 

You glanced at the date. It was Wednesday already? 

Law didn’t even spare you a look as he addressed you bossily for the umpteenth time that week. 

“I don’t have anything else for you. Feel free to take your leave after you send through those frames,” he dismissed, as if he had the authority to dismiss you. 

That resentment of his attitude and the fact that he’d become a monster ever since he started working on this case— simmered within you all the way down to imaging, following you to your car. 

And when you saw Law’s sleek, black Lexus pulling out of the employee parking, you immediately became possessed. Your soul was possessed by a crazy demon obsessed with the ludicrous idea of a Wednesday night date. Yes, a terrible ghoul who simply had to know what sort of psychos go out on a Wednesday and what they get up to.

It wasn’t your brightest moment, but you followed that bastard. 

You followed him all the way through the nice part of town— mentally calculating what sort of fru-fru place he was going to— before stalking him to the not-so-nice part of town. You kept a distance, having to fight your way through swarms of cars to keep up as Law finally lost you around a corner. 

But the Wednesday date demon was undeterred. You moved slowly, scanning the buildings as you rounded another corner. You spotted Law’s car quickly. It was hard not to. Given the neighborhood you found yourself in, Law’s car was easily the most expensive on the block, and it was parked right in back of the community center. 

You frowned, pulling into the spot two spaces away from his. 

The community center? Here? Did he plan a basketball date or something? Pickleball? You could totally see that bastard taking a date to pickleball.

You exited your vehicle, rounding the building to the entrance. You moved with haste, still trying to sneak around the bend as if that would help literally anything. The community center was decked out in rainbow colors, with children’s handprints and art projects littering the walls. Corkboards with event flyers and resource numbers were posted all around. You could hear the squeak of shoes from a basketball game, and the space smelled of generic floor cleaner. 

You just wanted a peek. And when you saw him, you noticed that he didn’t wear his white coat. Rather, the sleeves of his black button-up up were rolled to his forearms. A stethoscope was slung around the back of his neck. And the very last thing you were expecting was for Law to be knelt down to eye level, speaking to a little boy. He was patient. Gentle.

The sign that read “FREE CLINIC” that stood just to Law’s right made your heart drop in your chest. 

Oh… my god. You fucked up.

“Show me how you use it,” Law said, gesturing to the new inhaler in the boy’s hand. 

The kid demonstrated, shaky and quick like an exaggerated gasp. Law smiled gently. 

“Not bad, but you have to take a slow breath in like this—” He demonstrated on an empty spacer, exaggerating the motion until the boy giggled. “Slow, like you’re filling up a big balloon. Can you show me again?”

The only time you’d ever seen Law smile like that was on the phone call you’d overheard. He was different. He was warm and patient, the kind of guy to give high fives to kids and listen openly to patient concerns. Nothing like the rushed, cold, arrogant doctor you knew from the North. 

“You got it! Good job!”

Law offered the kid a double high five, which the boy took gleefully. Law rose from where he knelt to address the child’s mother, saying something about prescribing a spacer. 

And that’s when you knew that you needed to get out of there. Because Jesus fuck did you mess up. 

“Excuse me,” a man and his child brushed past you, clipboard in hand, with basic medical information scrawled on the pages. 

You supposed Law’s eyes had been attracted to the movement in his peripheral. Perhaps he had been here enough times to mentally keep track of the finished forms in the bin because his gaze locked down on yours in an instant. 

He froze, just as he was wrapping up with the boy and mother, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he seemed to piece things together faster than you had. You turned back to the mother, excusing himself politely as he made directly for you. Calm, no scene to be made. 

You didn’t have a good excuse.

“Fancy seeing you here—”

“You followed me,” he said flatly, the corners of his lips tugging downward for the first time he’d entered the building. The very sight made your breath hitch in your throat. Because out of all things, why did you have to ruin Law’s mood?

“You left early,” you muttered, gaze turned toward the tile floor. 

Law didn’t say anything for a moment. He waited until you worked up the nerve to look up at him. You breathed in a deep breath. 

“Need someone to… You know… do workups?” you offered shakily. Did they do workups here? Your eye twitched as you held back the urge to crumple into the ground out of embarrassment. And you wished that the way Law’s lips turned upward again hadn’t made your heart skip a beat like it did.

“I could put you to work.” He shrugged, gesturing over to the clinic area. 

You settled into the work semi-awkwardly, handing out forms, taking blood pressures, and collecting medical histories. But the more people that walked through the door, the less self-conscious you felt. 

For all the people you were seeing, it didn’t feel like work, in stark contrast to the way in which your average work day could very easily feel like a factory. While the health of every patient you saw was important, the pressure wasn’t on. You were free to be hands-on, speaking to members of the community and really be present as you were doing so. 

You handed out juice boxes and snacks to kids and adults alike, and as the evening went on, you found you and Law falling into a familiar rhythm. It was like the cath lab, but unsurprisingly warmer. You were comfortable, and despite not knowing the operations or where most things were, your teamwork was as flawless as could be. 

It was different. Trafalgar Law, acting human and on purpose. If he’d told you Law was his evil electrophysiology twin, you might’ve believed him. But there he was, taking care of others on his own time. It was a side of him you were never meant to see, and yet he accepted you in a heartbeat. 

It was nighttime by the time you finished with everyone. You and Law sat out back on the concrete steps, sipping some shitty coffee in little paper cups under the glow of the streetlamp above. 

You eyed him as you sat in silence. He looked… different now. Relaxed despite the work. Softer.

“You’re good with kids…” You said, stating it like a note on an echo. 

Law only offered a hum of acknowledgement into the rim of his cup, barely audible.

You swirled what was left of your drink around. You didn’t intend on finishing the rest, but as you sat, you felt the need to do something with your hands. 

“Makes me wonder why you act like such an asshole all the time,” you muttered. Law scoffed in amusement in response.

“I save the charm for an audience that still thinks I’m impressive. With kids, I’m a doctor. With you, I’m apparently an asshole.” He took another sip of his drink. “Balance.”

Law looked toward you, his eyes exhausted, but his overall expression playful enough to cause a smile to creep onto your lips. You looked down, rolling your cup between your palms. 

“Did you grow up around here?” you asked. Law shifted on the solid, concrete steps, leaning back against the step above as if that would be any more comfortable to him.

“Yeah… I did… Sort of,” he breathed after a pause, as if he was debating on whether he wanted to answer. 

“Sort of?” you repeated softly. You shifted, leaning slightly toward him. And when you felt him pause again, you spoke, “You don’t have to get into it if you don’t want to.”

“I was a difficult kid,” Law said before you could even get the words out. “Difficult kids get bounced around the system.” 

You looked up in shock, and Law had a resigned expression on his face. You softened.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you offered. Law moved an elbow closer to you, pivoting his body as he spoke again. 

“It’s something that happened,” he sighed, a hurt little bite in his words like it was a phrase he had told himself numerous times. “I suppose I ended up getting lucky in the end. I try to focus on that.” Law downed the rest of his coffee, fiddling with the coffee sleeve. 

“Yeah?” you hummed. 

Law stared at the empty cup, rotating it as he played with the stray drop he didn’t get. 

“Yeah,” he almost mused. “I had this one foster dad… He was just out of the military… and no matter how much trouble I got into, he just wouldn’t give up on me. Stubborn goat. He probably should have. I was a sick ki,d too, and hospitals already pissed me off before my parents. And after… I was probably the angriest kid he could have ever had the misfortune of getting.” Law crumpled up his cup and tossed the wad into a nearby dumpster. He made it through the narrow opening as he sighed. “Guess I inherited the goat part.” 

It was another side of him. Vulnerable, even as he looked away from you. The way he spoke made your heart sink, because… You never knew. How could you have? 

Law, for everything that he was, never displayed a shred of himself that wasn’t perfect. 

You scooted a bit closer, choosing your words gingerly. You almost held your breath, like on sudden move would cause Law to bolt away like a deer.

“What happened?” 

Law sat back against the uncomfortable concrete again, arms folded as he huffed out a bitter laugh.

“Coronary artery disease!” he barked out, turning to you as if he’d just heard a bad joke. “Can you believe that?” Law shrank a little more in on himself. “He’d asked me to be his kid that week—” he said, staring off into the dark street, pointing at the air in front of him in punctuation. —“We were going to make it all official and go to some stupid place for kids… We were going to be together. We were going to be a family.” 

Law sighed. His arms were still crossed, and he stretched out his long legs to cross his ankles. He tilted his head toward you, regarding you from the corner of his eyes. 

“Go on, I know you’ve got something snarky to say,” he said, although the bite in his voice wasn’t meant for you.

A fragile silence filled the space between you, interrupted by the low chirping of nocturnal bugs. Law didn’t look at you, still facing toward the street. But that was okay. He didn’t need to. 

You shifted, turning to fully face him. 

“Thank you,” you started, taking a breath of courage from the warm night air. “For trusting me with your story.” Law kept his arms coiled and chin down. “And I’m sorry for what I said that night in imaging.”

And, for as well as Law usually kept his emotions under wraps, you detected the slightest widening of his eyes in surprise. He blinked once, turning his head toward you once again as if unsure if he heard you right. 

His lip stalled the most minute millisecond as he scoffed. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, almost accusatorily, more caught off guard than anything. 

“You care a lot, don’t you?” You didn’t need him to confirm. You knew him well enough. For whatever odd reason, Law would never say out loud that he cared about something. But if this night showed you anything, it was that he did more than he was willing to admit. You hummed in considerate thought. “Why don’t you tell your team about this? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to help.”

Law shook his head. 

“I don’t doubt it, but…” he trailed off. “I don’t think they’d get it,” he said, and you knew he meant more. 

“I can’t know exactly what it felt like to go through that, but…” Law met your eye again, and this time, he didn’t glance away. He held you there as if the rest of the world peeled away, like time ceased and reality was just you and him on those steps. “I’d like to understand… even just a little if you’d let me.” 

The world was still. Quiet. The headlights of a car would pass by every so often. 

“I’m here the last Wednesday of every month,” Law spoke quietly, his tired eyes still locked onto yours. 

That was all he said, but it was enough. 

***

You were actually in a good mood riding into work the next day. Despite working into the night the day before, it was hard not to feel a bit of peace. The work had been rewarding, and you found yourself smiling at the memory of Law’s laugh. It was a side of him you were fascinated by, your mind buzzing and your chest swarming with blissful emotions as you prepped for another day.

Law, not one to just wrap clinic early and forget about it, had an early morning start. Even for as early as you came in the door, Law had you beat. His skeleton crew of the usual suspects was already bustling about, managing the patients that had been squeezed in before most doctors’ formal hours until the floats and other staff arrived at the usual start time. 

Law’s hall was a storm as much as man himself. You saw him dart by the mouth of the hall you were walking down. He paused, stopping midstep to address you. And while you had a content little smile on your lips, Law did not.

“Where have you been?” Law snapped. “I asked you to be early in this morning.”

Your expression immediately faltered. He might as well have been breathing fire. 

“What?” you blurted.

“Seven needs an echo that I asked for twenty minutes ago. I want it done now.” His voice cut through the morning atmosphere like a scalpel had manifested as his tongue. “And pay attention. I don’t want repeats.” 

You drew in a deep, restrained breath.

So this is how it was going to be.

***

It was another week of cool professionalism, with Law only speaking to you when necessary and vice versa. Law had bigger fish to fry with this new case, after all, and you could live with a sense of normalcy— clean, clinical, impersonal. 

He was some sort of reverse werewolf, where he was a nice and decent person on the night of a full moon, and then a complete tyrant the rest of the days of the month. And, god, this case had made him even more of a menace than he already was. 

At the end of a random day, just as you were wrapping up notes for a few scans on your computer, Law burst into the door with a posse of fellows on his heels. He was already halfway through another pretentious explanation, his open laptop in front of him.

“Pull up the septal views from Montgomery that you did last week,” he demanded, not looking up from his laptop. The command came in the middle of his monologue to his entourage, like a very public aside. 

No way in hell was he talking to you.

“Excuse you?” you huffed, but you were swiftly cut off.

“Any day now, technician,” he snapped, once again not taking his eyes off you for a second. 

You noticed Marco subtly eyeing you before glancing toward Law and back. You took in a slow, restrained breath. You turned to your computer. You were just wrapping up your notes anyway. You saved them before pulling the images up. 

What the hell were you going to do? He just had to choose to cause a scene in front of people. As much as you wanted to chew him out in front of staff and patients alike, you had much preferred trying to find a time to talk to him privately. You know, like adults. 

But that moment always seemed to escape you.

The ensemble gathered around your desk. Law leaned over you, one hand planted on the back of your swivel chair. 

“Peak gradient sixty at rest,” he rattled, gesturing curtly at the screen. “Freeze it there. That frame. No, back. Back one frame. I want measurements… there. Do you see how enlarged the —”

You breathed a very patient sigh. He had access to DICOM, the same as everyone else. He had no reason to shepherd a bunch of fellows into your office at the ninth hour, making demands and—

You heard a little chortle behind you.

“Wow, can I have a pet tech like that?” 

Law didn’t appear to hear. He continued to rattle off numbers and buzzwords, completely absorbed in the case on the screen. But you heard. Oh, you heard that. 

“Careful— baby doc gets fussy if his toys get out of line.” And perhaps it was the pent-up frustration that made the words spill from your lips with the gleeful bitterness that laced them. But even if you excused the comment as a joke, no one laughed. 

The room stilled. Law’s fingers twitched as he clutched the back of your seat. And for a moment, he didn’t say anything. 

“Finish up,” he said to his entourage, “We’re done here.” 

He rose quickly, passing through the imaging doors with his white coat snapping behind him. 

And perhaps you would’ve left him to simmer. It would have been easier to leave for the day and handle his passive aggression and entitled attitude tomorrow. But why should you? Why should you have to put up with the monster he’s become just because he had people to impress?

You stormed over to his office. You were geared up to leave, and yet, you had a pit stop first. You were going to give that pretentious bastard a piece of your mind. 

You swung the door open, nose crinkling in disgust at the sight of Law sitting at his desk. The surface was covered in papers. He was clearly engrossed in something, but his eyes shifted to you as you slammed the door behind you. 

“I’m telling you no,” you asserted, as if you decided to declare half a thought without disclosing the rest to Law. He blinked at you, keeping his attention on your face as he slowly closed the binder he had been reading. You marched toward him, standing between the two chairs that sat in front of his desk. “I’m not your tech pet. I’m not your echo slut. Nothing. No more! You can’t just keep ordering me around! You’ve become a fucking tyrant around this place ever since you started your case submission, and even more than that, you don’t get to cum in me twice without saying another goddamn word about it, so I’m telling you no!”

You rambled, raved even, expecting some sort of reaction from Law as you huffed and huffed. You had no idea what brought on the expectation that he’d have a reaction in the first place because he never gave you what you anticipated. 

He sat back, fingers laced together over his abdomen, and one ankle slung over his knee. And you burned because that same smug-ass, arrogant smirk still sat on his face. Oh, you were going to slap him this time. You were going to do it.

“No,” he repeated slowly, his grin only widening as he thought. He dipped his head to breathe out a laugh as he shifted back in his seat. His stare immediately went back to yours. “You came all the way down here after hours to tell me no,” he mused. 

His tone wasn’t mocking— it was worse. It was amused. He stressed his syllables as if savoring them on his tongue. 

You didn’t give it a second thought. You walked around his desk, pushing his documents out of the way. Law rolled his chair back a short distance, allowing you to climb up to sit on the edge of his desk in the very spot he’d just been working. You sat with your palms flat against his desk, your slip-on shoes hovering over the clear plastic mat that sat under his chair. 

You tilted your head to the side summoning the voice you used with new techs and interns. 

“You think you can order me around? Because you’re always in control of everything, aren’t you? Well, not anymore.” You turned your nose up at him, feigning indifference. Your eyes narrowed at him. “Kneel.” 

And for a moment, Law didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, staring up at you as the corner of his lip twitched like he was debating whether or not he wanted to obey you. But slowly, he slid from his chair to kneel between your knees. 

It should’ve been a win. After everything you’ve been through—after everything he’s put you through—it should’ve felt more satisfying than this. And perhaps it would’ve if Law wasn’t grinning like he’d found a spider he was going to pull the legs off of. 

He planted his hands firmly on your hips, dipping his fingers under your waistband to slowly pull your scrub pants down your thighs. Law carefully removed your shoes, working almost delicately as if you were Cinderella herself, placing them neatly to the side before he slid your pants all the way down. His fingers slid under the ankle of your scrubs where the fabric sinched, slowly pulling it over your heel. He maneuvered the other ankle, pulling your pants off without inverting them before folding the pair and setting it by your shoes. 

And then, his hands went to your thighs, massaging the muscles of your legs before one of his thumbs toyed over your clit through your soaked panties. 

“You’re shaking,” he muttered. One of his arms looped under your knee and rested on your outer thigh. He leaned his head against the inside of your knee as he lazily toyed with you. Law glanced up at you with his cat-like eyes. “Where’d all that fake confidence go?”

You tried to grind up against his touch, but the arm weaved around your leg anchored you to the desk. 

“Are you just going to kneel there and smirk?” you huffed, trying to assert at least a little bit of dominance. You were undercut by the way your breath shook. “Or are you going to do something?”

Law blinked a few times, a mock expression of surprise washing over his face as he gripped your thighs, sliding them farther apart.

“Oh, you’re still acting like you’re in charge?” he hummed, leaning his temple against your knee. When he met your gaze, he did so with all the confidence in the world. “God, that’s cute.” 

Law pushed your panties aside, spreading your pussy lips open. And you shouldn’t have felt as self-conscious as you did. You could feel his breath against you as he just toyed with you, brushing his fingers over your cunt like he was mapping your body by your shudders alone. 

And then, he leaned in, dragging a long, unhurried line up your slit. Soft. Lazy. The sensation he left in his wake was electrifying, burning under the scrutiny of his close gaze. He dipped his head back down, flattening his tongue as he licked up your cunt before flicking devastating pressure on your clit. 

Your hand flew to Law's hair, lacing into it at the root to tug him closer. He chuckled against you, one of his hands coming to grab your wrist, gently removing it and placing it back on the table. 

“Uh-uh,” Law tsked, his lips sealing around your clit. 

You had no choice but to squirm as he held you firmly, eating you with a slow, torturous cruelty. He was loud, not holding back the lewd slurping noises that came from you. His nose bumped against your clit as he fucked his tongue in and out of you. 

“Law—” you whined. 

“This is what you wanted when you told me to kneel, right?” he spoke against your cunt, making you whimper as he worked you. “You couldn’t possibly have thought you were… What? Topping me?” he laughed against you, causing a filthy vibration to make you shudder. “That’s it… Get nice and messy for me.”

Law had slung one of your legs over his shoulder, gripping the skin of your calf harder, the more violently and uncontrolably your legs shook.

“Wait— Law… Please—” you gasped. 

Law continued to lick and flick at your most sensitive spots, never letting up for a second as he kept you teetering on the edge. 

“You’re going to beg me. It better be good or I’ll stop,” he chuckled, his lips sealing around your clit again. 

You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand flew back to his hair, the other somewhere behind you to support you. You pressed him into you, your hips trying to buck up. 

“Please, Law, I need it,” you gasped.

“You need it?” Law mocked, punishing your cunt harder. “You think you deserve it after that little stunt you pulled?”

You just about sobbed. 

“God, yes! Sir— Please, sir! Please make me cum. Please, I need it—” 

You felt him groan against you as if the title had torn the last bit of restraint he had to shreds. His thumb spread you wide again as the other continued to grip the outside of your hip, anchoring you in place as he ate you with a ferocity that made tears come to your eyes. 

He wasn’t teasing anymore. No, Law went straight for those sensitive spots he worked so hard to map out earlier. He sucked and circled and fucked his fingers and tongue into you until you couldn’t see straight. Until you could only whimper and shake under him. 

You kept panting his name like it was the only word you knew. You gripped his hair harder, scratching his scalp as he brought you to the edge. You cried out a pathetic sob as you came, legs twitching, a death grip of Law’s hair and bicep as he held you down. He didn’t stop, eating you through your high even as you went limp against him. 

You could barely hold yourself up on the desk, having been reduced to propping yourself up on your elbows to avoid knocking Law’s entire PC over. You could see him just well enough to see the dark, satisfactory glimmer in his eyes, and you slowly began inching your thighs closed. 

But Law’s hands stopped you. 

“No, no,” he said, almost breathless. Famished. He dipped his head back down, his already glistening lips pressing a kiss against your hyper-sensitized cunt. “Not done yet. I want you falling apart again. I want you stupid.” 

His tongue flicked hard against you, splitting you open slowly and greedily. His hands squeezed your hips, the feeling of being in his hands amplifying the electricity that shot through you. Law didn’t let up against your overstimulated nerves, torturing you with flat licks and short flicks of his tongue as you clamped a hand over your mouth to stop from screaming. 

Your second orgasm came faster this time, built up by the unrelenting overstimulation. Your vision was beginning to blur. You considered for a moment that actual tears were sliding down your cheeks as you convulsed. 

“It’s too much—I can’t—Law, I can’t—”

But he didn’t stop even as you broke. He never did, and you hated that you knew that you he never stopped after you came. Law lightened up a bit, his laps at your folds turning more gentle. And for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was going to keep going. 

But Law sat back on his heels. His mouth and his chin glistened with clear slick. His dark eyes gleamed with triumphant satisfaction. 

Your limbs felt like jelly. You didn’t know what to think. You couldn’t think. You could barely bring your thighs closed because of how sensitive your poor, puffy pussy was. You placed a foot on the floor, just about crumpled off the side of the desk in front of Law. But he no longer knelt where he had.

Instead, you heard the faint rasp of a zipper. 

A beat of silence. 

“You didn’t think I did all that just for you… Did you?” 

Your head snapped up, just now now noticing the throbbing length in front of your face. Law’s hand petted over your hair almost lovingly. He gripped the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps before brushing the head over your lips. 

You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out. You didn’t know what to say. You could hardly see straight, let alone form a coherent thought, and that was exactly the way Law liked you. 

“Be useful, sweetheart,” he muttered as he pushed through your open lips. He quickly filled your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat while he kept his hand on the back of your head. Law let out a low sigh, bobbing your head up and down on his length. “I knew that mouth had a better use.”

You moaned around his shaft, eyes blissfully closed as you took him deep into you. The vibration drew a shutter and a breath from him. Your hands braced against his thighs, the feeling of his firm muscle under your palms being the only thing that anchored you to reality. You breathed out your nose when you could, trying not to gag as Law repeatedly fucked down your throat. 

“Think this is being in control, baby?” he cooed, “Is having my cock down your throat what you thought was going to happen when you came in here? To tell me no?” He chuckled at the fresh memory. Law’s hand swept down the side of your face as you greedily swallowed him. His thumb brushed against the side of your mouth, where drool was beginning to spill. “I liked you desperate before, but fuck, sweetheart, I love you delusional.” 

He braced your head again, taking matters into his own hands as he thrust himself completely into you, holding your nose against his groomed pubic hair before continuing the rough snapping of his hips. You tried to recover quickly, trying to gag as his rhythm became more erratic. 

“Take it. Be a good girl— Fuck— Take it.” 

You sucked harder, flicking your tongue over his head, tasting the salty precum that was already leaking out of him. He was right. You were desperate. Eager to please and wanting it badly. 

The groans he made above you were low, restrained compared to the erratic movements of his hips. And when he cums, you could feel the thick, hot ropes hit to back of your mouth. He held you, controlling where you were on his length as he emptied himself onto your tongue. You instinctively swallowed, locking your lips as he slowly pulled out. A small dribble spilled out from the side of your mouth as he let your hair go, allowing you to collapse on the floor. 

You sat, legs still acutely sprawled and hands behind you on the floor to anchor you there. Law had already tucked himself back in his pants, although the zipper was still undon,e along with the button. He slumped back onto his office chair, his chest moving steadily up and down as he caught his breath. 

His eyes were on you, piercing like ever. You brought the knuckle of your index finger under the cum that had begun to drip down your chin, brushing it up to your tongue, keeping your eyes locked with Law’s. 

You saw the tiny fraction that his eyes widened. You were never great at reading him, but if you had to pinpoint the expression, you would’ve considered it somewhere between amused, impressed, and dared you consider adoring. 

He reached toward one of the shelves behind him, grabbing a box of tissues. Law plucked a few out, leaning forward with his feet planted on the plastic mat with his elbows resting on his knees, to grab you gently under your chin. He wiped the rest of the spit and cum off your face, dragging the tissue over your skin before pausing. 

The beat didn’t last long. Law leaned down. The way his lips brushed against you was too light and too close to your cheek to be a kiss. 

“You’re being nice,” you whispered, your lips curling into a blissful smile. 

You felt Law puff out a laugh. 

“Not being nice,” he muttered back. His thumb traced the underside of your lower lip. 

“Right,” you teased, nudging your nose against his, “Because Mr. Tough Guy doesn’t do nice.”

Law crossed an arm over his thighs, his right elbow still resting on his thigh with his hand over his left elbow. He held you under the tip of your chin, keeping your head tilted up toward him. You felt the ghost of his breath against you. So close, right against your mouth. 

“You sure love a good nickname, don’t you?” 

Things felt right in that moment. Quiet. Another round after hours, but this time, you didn’t clean up in silence. You didn’t depart with a few words or shallow promises to talk later. In that moment, Law held space for you. You pressed your forehead to his, sitting up a bit taller on your heels so he didn’t need to bend down as far. Your arms tangled around where his rested in his lap. 

You hummed a light laugh. This was what you were chasing after. Not the sex. Just… him.

“I didn’t think I’d ever reach you,” you quietly admitted, your lips brushing just barely against his. Your hand traveled up his forearm, your heart beating giddily in your chest. 

After all this time of taking swats around each other—after the dance you performed during clinic— you were finally on the same page. 

You were just waiting for him to make the move.

You felt him smile against you.

“You’re getting there.”

…

You’re getting there.

Your eyes snapped open, taking a moment to process what he said. You heard him as clear as day. The words caused your blood to freeze in your veins as you sat back on your heels. Law scrunched his brow at you, trying to piece together your sudden distance as you blinked to yourself. 

And then you laughed, shaking your head. 

“Right. Cool.” You immediately stood, collecting your soiled underwear and panties. You dressed faster than you’d ever dressed in your entire life, and as you rose, you caught something on the top shelf of his cabinet. You turned toward Law, who had since stood. “Is that my lunchbox?”

You pointed at it. It sat neatly on the top shelf, as if it were a piece of decor. You had been looking for that. You misplaced it weeks ago, around the time— 

You clenched your fist, mouth opening and closing as a tremor of shame wracked your chest. You remembered exactly when you lost it. And Law didn’t bring it back to you. 

He kept it, displaying it like a trophy because he knew you’d be back. 

“What just happened?” Law demanded, as if he were asking about a status report on a patient. He was level, logical. 

You looked at him, your hands immediately coming to run over your face. 

“God, I’m so stupid,” you hissed, trying to keep your composure. You picked up your things, swiping your lunchbox from the shelf. “I’m getting there. Got it. I didn’t know this was a merit-based system where I needed to earn gold stars to get the full prize.” 

You hated the way your voice shook, the way it trembled like you were about to cry. 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Sure thing, because I’m so fucking smart like you said. God, it was right in front of me the whole time. You really did only think of me like a lab pet, Jesus fuck—” You turned to leave. You turned to bolt. 

Law didn’t move from where he stood, but he did call after you.

“Don’t twist my words because you’re scared.” His voice was as firm as it usually was. He didn’t mock you, and yet, his truthful observation was somehow worse. You stopped at the door, a hand on the handle. “You’re hurt,” he noted, the clinic edge apparent in his voice. He spoke it if it were a symptom. 

The hand that hovered over the knob went up to your forehead, gripping at the air before firmly grasping the door handle. You turned it decidedly. 

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor. Sorry, I couldn’t get full marks and earn the rest of you.” 

You bolted out the door because Trafalgar Law wasn’t going to see you cry. And he didn’t follow.

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